a moment Sharpman sat quietly staring at his visitor; then, in a
voice which betrayed his effort to remain calm, he said:--

"What right have you to make such a statement as this? How can you
prove it?"

"Well, in the first place I knew the boy's father, and he was not
Robert Burnham, I assure you."

"Who was he?"

"Simon Craft's son."

"Then Ralph is--?"

"Old Simon's grandchild."

"How do you happen to know all this?"

"Well, I saw the child frequently before he was taken into the
country, and I saw him the night Old Simon brought him back. He was
the same child. The young fellow and his wife separated, and the old
man had to take the baby. I was on confidential terms with the old
fellow at that time, and he told me all about it."

"Then he probably deceived you. The evidence concerning the railroad
disaster and the rescue of Robert Burnham's child from the wreck is
too well established by the testimony to be upset now by such a story
as yours."

"Ah! let me explain that matter to you. The train that went through
the bridge was the express. The local was twenty minutes behind it.
Old Simon and his grandchild were on the local to the bridge. An
hour later they came down to the city on the train which brought the
wounded passengers. I had this that night from the old man's own lips.
I repeat to you, sir, the boy Ralph is Simon Craft's grandson, and I
know it."

In the outer room there was a slight noise as of some person drawing
in his breath sharply and with pain. Neither of the men heard it.
Rhyming Joe was too intent on giving due weight to his pretended
disclosure; Lawyer Sharpman was too busy studying the chances of
that disclosure being true. It was evident that the young man was
acquainted with his subject. If his story were false he had it too
well learned to admit of successful contradiction. It was therefore of
no use to argue with him, but Sharpman thought he would see what was
lying back of this.

"Well," he said, calmly, "I don't see how this affects our case.
Suppose you can prove your story to be true; what then?"

The young man did not answer immediately. He took a package of
cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Sharpman. It was
declined. He lighted one for himself, leaned back in his chair,
crossed his legs, and began to study the ceiling through the rings
of blue smoke which came curling from his nostrils. Finally he said:
"What would you consider my silence on this subject